


dance with the devil

by poetictragedy



Category: Supernatural, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Demons, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Soul Selling, talk of major character death, with a twist of the supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:36:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetictragedy/pseuds/poetictragedy





	dance with the devil

The wind is quiet; the air is too warm on his face and Loki turns away from it, letting his black hair fall into his face. He doesn’t bother to push it away, just lets the strands fall over his eyes, brushing against the bridge of his nose. Drawing air into his lungs, Loki lets the warm air burn him, holds it until he can’t anymore, and exhales slowly, stepping away from the rail. 

It’s been three months since Thor left him, and Loki doesn’t feel alive; doesn’t feel as jovial and happy as he once been, he feels dreary. To say that Thor was Loki’s entire life would be an understatement; he was Loki’s entire heart and soul, the very breath of which filled Loki, the blood pumping through his veins. 

Now that his life and heart have been ripped from him, Loki holds no purpose for being. His life holds absolutely no meaning; it’s useless, hopeless. Had it not been for the pact Loki made with Thor, he surely would have taken his life three months ago, when Thor was snatched away from him.

Loki steps into the lonely house and looks around at the things that had once been his and Thor’s, but now belong to just him. He doesn’t want these things; Loki would give them all away, and more, just to have Thor back, but he knows that wouldn’t be sufficient, nothing would. 

A shudder passes over Loki and he turns his face toward the sliding glass doors, breathing deeply through his nose. His green eyes lock on the moon for a brief moment before fluttering shut, shielded by pale skin. He stands in the middle of the floor, eyes closed, head canted to the side, breathing deeply as he lets thoughts and memories of his lost love wash over him.

It’s when he thinks of those last moments with Thor, that Loki allows himself to break down. He sinks to the floor, crumbles to his knees and slumps forward, forehead pressing against the cold, hard wood. Broken sobs leave his throat and Loki rests his palms flat against the surface beneath him, letting each sob rock his body harder than the last, leaving him choking and gasping for breath. 

Half an hour passes and Loki’s curled up on his side, knees drawn to his chest, Thor’s name falling from his lips in small, broken sobs. Everything hurts, and Loki lays there, pleading with some unforeseeable force to let him die, to let him join the only person he’d ever loved — who loved him.

When Loki finally falls asleep, his slumber is filled with dreams of Thor and their life together; the future they could have had, before Thor’s life was claimed. He wakes up several hours later, sprawled out on the floor with his face pressed against it, tears dried up on his cheeks. Loki doesn’t know how long he slept for, and doesn’t even remember dozing off as he sits up, running long, pale fingers through his hair, slicking it back.

Dropping his hands to his thighs, Loki crosses both of his legs and looks around at their place — _his_  home, now. That’s when he senses that he isn’t alone and he tilts his head to the side, green eyes scanning the room, stopping at the door to the kitchen. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Loki gets to his feet and stumbles forward, catching himself on the back of the couch.

After straightening up, Loki moves toward the kitchen, his steps quiet and stealthy. When he gets to the door, he nudges it open with his foot and peeks his head inside, yelping when he sees a man sitting at his counter, dressed in all black.

“What are you doing in my house?” Loki asks, his voice tight and cracking in a few places. He steps into the kitchen, letting the door swing shut behind him, and swallows hard, eyeing the stranger carefully. The strange man in black grins, spreading his hands as he stands up, rounding the counter as though he were coming toward Loki; he stops a few feet short.

“I heard your pleas, Loki.” The stranger’s voice is smooth and deep, Loki shudders and backs away when he hears it, wishing he’d hidden a pistol in the living room. “A pistol won’t do any good for me,” the stranger mumbles, tilting his head to the side, his grin fading a tiny bit, “and I wouldn’t suggest you make a run for it.”

Loki’s heart beats faster and he swallows thickly, locking eyes with the stranger. “How’d you — you know about the pistol?” His voice is shaky and unsteady, his words faltering and almost crumbling apart, but Loki somehow manages to form them.

“Name’s Crowley,” the stranger says, his voice still smooth and deep, words rolling off his tongue enticingly slow. “I’m what you’d call a Crossroad’s Demon; I make deals with people to get what they really want.”

“Like Thor.” Loki speaks, voice squeaky.

“Like your precious, deceased love interest, yes.” The  _’s’_  at the end of  _‘yes’_  comes out in a hiss, almost serpentine and Loki shudders, fingers gripping the door behind him. 

And Loki’s not even thinking that this guy is off his rocker for calling himself a demon — all he’s thinking about is Thor, and he’s wondering if this man can really bring him back. The stranger — Crowley, Loki reminds himself mentally — watches him like a hawk, eyes on Loki’s every movement, though they’re few and far between.

“Sit.” It’s a quiet demand and Loki nods numbly, moving away from the door. He takes a step forward, then another, and another until he gets to a chair. Dropping into it, Loki folds his hands on the counter and twists the small, golden band on his finger. 

“You can bring him back?” Loki’s voice is unsure, broken as ever, and he stares at his long, pale fingers as they play with the gold that, surprisingly, melds beautifully with the tone of skin. He doesn’t hear the chair move beside him, nor does he hear Crowley’s foot steps, and Loki is almost certain that the man left, vanished into thin air.

“I can try,” Crowley starts, sighing heavily like talking to Loki is too much for him, “but it comes with a price. Are you willing to pay - and  _do_  - anything for your love, Loki?” 

Loki looks up, blinks, and cants his head to the side, eyes narrowing as they set on Crowley’s. The question is preposterous — Loki would do just about anything for Thor, both in life and in death. He nods his head, swallows thickly, twice, and wets his lips, interlacing his fingers on the table.

“Of course.”

Crowley grins and nods, leaning forward, his face dangerously close to Loki’s. Had this been years before, Loki may have thought the man was flirting with him, but now? All Loki saw was a stranger getting close, inspecting him from all angles, to see how broken he really is.

“Do we have a deal, mister Laufeyson?” Crowley quirks a brow, his head turned to the side a bit, giving Loki a sidelong glance. It takes Loki a second to process what’s happening and he looks down at his hands again, picking at his nails nervously. He doesn’t know what Crowley wants and, frankly, he doesn’t care if it means he gets Thor back.

After another moment of hesitation, Loki nods his head, swallows, and looks back up at Crowley before uttering the word “deal” in a soft voice. The demon wets his lips and smiles, nodding before lifting a hand, resting it on the nape of Loki’s neck, pulling him closer.

“What — what are you doing?” Loki asks, suddenly alarmed.

Crowley chuckles, but doesn’t stop pulling Loki toward him. “A kiss seals the deal, darling,” he whispers, before pressing his lips against Loki’s, kissing him softly. The kiss is quick and over with before it even starts, but it floods Loki with a myriad of feelings — mostly those of heartbreak.

“So,” Loki asks when they ease apart and when he feels Crowley’s hand fall from his neck, “when will — when will he…” His words fall short and Loki realizes that he  _can’t_  finish the sentence, no matter how hard he wills himself to utter the words  _‘come back’_.

“Soon,” Crowley says in a cool voice as he stands, a small smirk on his face. “Go to bed, sleep for a few hours; when you awake, you and Thor will be reunited.” Loki opens his mouth to speak — to ask questions, to ask what he should expect, what to do when Thor does come back — but, before he can utter a single word, Crowley is gone in the blink of an eye.

Left alone with just his thoughts, Loki looks back down at the wedding band on his finger and swallows thickly, closing his eyes. Behind his eyelids, Loki sees Thor’s smile and his face, haloed in a crop of beautiful, golden hair. A small smile pulls at the edges of Loki’s lips and he swallows again, opening his eyes as he stands, moving toward the door.

He walks through the living room and moves to the stairs, mounting them slowly, letting his hand fall and move up the length of the rail. It all feels foreign underneath his skin and he makes an exasperated noise when he gets to the top of the stairs, moving to the guest room. 

Shortly after Thor died, Loki moved his own things into their guest room, too afraid to go back into the room they shared together. He feared sleeping in the same bed he shared with Thor, feeling the empty space next to him, and waking up cold and lonely; at least in the guest room, the bed was only big enough for him and his possessions were the only things in the room.

Loki opens the door and steps into the room quickly, shutting the door behind him with a soft click of the latch. Pulling his t-shirt off, Loki moves toward the bed and sits on the edge, looking around at the scarcity of his things. His heart beats slowly, almost sad and pathetic, as he looks at  _his_  things covering almost every inch of the room.

He sighs heavily and lays back on the bed, undoing his jeans before pulling a sheet over him, turning onto his left side. Subconsciously, Loki knows the reasoning for sleeping on his left side has to do with Thor and the way they slept together; Thor laid on his back and Loki on his side, his head situated on Thor’s bicep.

These thoughts don’t occur to him and, for the first time in three months, Loki falls asleep and stays that way, without dreams or memories to haunt him. His slumber is quiet, peaceful, and full of darkness, completely dreamless.

When Loki wakes up, he jerks awake and rolls over onto his back, blinking up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling heavily. Sweat pours down his face, falling down the curve of his neck and Loki kicks the sheets off, folding his hands on his chest, feeling his heart pound. 

Then he listens; trying to control his breath, he strains to hear a noise - anything to indicate that what happened that morning had really happened. After a while, Loki doesn’t hear anything and he sucks in a deep breath, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, pressing his feet against the carpet.

“It was a dream, then,” Loki tells himself, chuckling brokenly as he stands, running a hand through his sweat-slick, sleep-mussed hair. A yawn escapes his mouth and he scratches his scalp lightly, moving his free hand down the middle of his stomach as he walks, slipping his fingers underneath the waistband of his boxers. He opens the door with the other hand, scratching his lower abdomen with the other as he exits the room.

He stops dead in his tracks when he looks down the hall, noticing the door to his and Thor’s room is open. It’s not much of an opening, but Loki can’t remember going in there, or even opening the door a margin of the way. Chewing on his bottom lip, Loki drops both hands to his sides and shuffles along the carpet, heart still pounding in his chest. 

When he gets closer to the door, Loki pushes it open and peeks his head in, swallowing thickly. He doesn’t see anyone, not at first, and he pushes the door open all the way, stepping into the room. The bed looks like it’d been slept in and Loki pales, turning toward the bathroom door.

He walks toward the door and listens carefully, hearing the shower. Swallowing harder than before, Loki lifts a shaking hand and wraps his fingers around the doorknob, twisting it slowly. The door opens slowly, creaking just barely, and Loki is assaulted by a cloud of steam; he chokes and coughs, waving his hand to clear the steam, before he steps into the bathroom.

“Th-Thor?” Loki calls out, his voice barely above a whisper. The steady pound of water against the shower walls and floor drowns his voice out and Loki clears his throat, stepping toward the shower. His entire body is shaking; his heart threatening to pound right out of his chest, and he can barely breathe - both from the steam and the reality of what’s happening.

Raising a hand, Loki grips the handle to the door and pulls it open, all breath leaving him when he sees Thor standing there, naked and wet from the stream of water. He blinks a few times, his grip tightening on the handle before Thor turns and smiles at him, extending a large hand, beckoning him to join.

“Thor,” Loki breathes before he bridges the gap between them, throwing himself against Thor’s body. He doesn’t care if he’s half naked, nor does he care about the fact that his jeans are getting soaked, because Thor’s alive and Loki is happy, for the first time in three months.

Thor laughs and wraps his arms around Loki, his broad arms encircling Loki’s thin shoulders, holding him close. “You act like you haven’t seen me in forever,” he mumbles, pressing his face against Loki’s hair, breathing in his scent.

A broken laugh leaves Loki’s mouth and buries his face in Thor’s neck, sobbing against it. Two large, rough hands move down his back slowly and Loki shudders, pressing himself closer to Thor, trying to keep as little space between them as possible.

“Are you — is it really you, Thor?” Loki asks in a quiet voice as he pulls away, craning his neck up to look at Thor, who smiles down at him, nodding slowly. One of Thor’s eyebrows lift and he moves a hand to Loki’s face, wiping tears and drops of water away from his cheeks.

“Of course it’s me, who else would it—” Thor starts, but Loki silences him with a kiss and moves both hands to his hair, running long fingers through it, tangling them in the golden locks. A pleased noise leaves Thor’s throat, falling against Loki’s mouth before he kisses him harder, pressing their groins together.

The kiss only lasts a moment and Thor pulls away, moving his hands up and down the curve of Loki’s spine, chuckling quietly. He wets his lips, tastes Loki on them, and bites down on the lower one, teeth grazing the surface.

“Are you alright, Loki?” Thor’s voice is quiet, and Loki nods his head, smiling.

“I’m perfect,” he whispers, leaning in to bite and kiss at Thor’s stubble-laced jaw, making a noise against it. “I love you,” Loki repeats the words over and over, moving his lips from every inch of Thor he can possible reach before the other man stops him, both hands on either side of Loki’s face.

They pull away and Thor smiles softly at Loki before leaning down, brushing their lips together, whispering, “I love you too. Let’s lay down, okay? The water is going to turn cold any moment, and I’d rather not die in the shower from pneumonia.”

Another broken laugh leaves Loki’s mouth and he closes his eyes tightly, lifting his hands, wrapping them around Thor’s wrists. He nods slowly, barely uttering out a ‘okay’ before he feels the hands on his face fall away. One goes to Loki’s hip, the other goes to the shower knob, and Thor turns it off quickly, laughing as he watches (and feels) Loki shudder.

“C’mon,” Thor mumbles as he pushes Loki out of the shower, stopping to grab two towels, wrapping one around Loki, the other around his own waist. Loki kisses Thor again and turns on his heels, walking out into their bedroom, breathing in deeply. When he gets out of the bathroom, Thor walks up behind Loki and dries him off slowly, kissing the nape of his neck as the towel moves down his shoulders.

Loki shudders again and tips his head back, resting it against Thor’s, moving a hand to the back of his partner’s head, scratching his scalp lightly. The towel moves down Loki’s sides, stomach, and back before it drops away and Thor moves back, drying himself off.

“You should get out of those clothes,” he says as he brings the towel up to his hair, rubbing it against the wet locks, “before you get onto the bed.” Loki smiles and nods his head, pushing his soaked jeans and boxers to the floor, before laying them on top of the towel.

Once his clothes are off, Loki moves to the bed and lays on it, watching Thor quietly, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Thor drops his own towel on top of Loki’s clothing and crawls onto the bed beside him, kissing the bridge of his nose lightly. He wraps Loki in his arms and pulls him close, their bodies forming to one another’s perfectly, and Loki closes his eyes, sighing contently. 

Swallowing hard, Loki moves his head to Thor’s chest and listens to his heartbeat, as strong and powerful as ever. It puts a smile on his face — both from happiness and sadness, and he listens to his partner breathe, one hand moving along Thor’s chest slowly. He wonders, briefly, what he gave to have Thor back and quickly decides that he doesn’t matter what it was — because it was worth it.


End file.
